A Love Forsaken
by Eos Erigeneia
Summary: A piece of Garion's past is out to get him, he'd better be careful if he wants to live up to his immortality. He is about to come face to face with a lady who does not appreciate being left on the side. Chapter 4 now up!
1. Letters

**A Love Forsaken**

When Garion left Faldor's Farm all those years ago, it seems he sacrificed more than just his childhood home. He may have decided it was time to leave (or had it decided for him), but there had been someone else with very different ideas. It looks like a piece of his past is back and out to get him. He'd better watch out; at least, if he wants to live up to his immortality, anyway.

**Chapter 1: Letters**

The golden haired lady fondled the yellowed envelope and ran her soft fingers down the edges with a touch close to reverence. Slowly she slid the parchment from its bindings and unfolded it, smoothing out the well worn creases and caressing the muffled rim. The letter was spattered with tearstains and its pallid hue betrayed its age. By the waterless grief that still haunted the arid page, the contents could be known to be far from welcoming, but the lady forced herself to read again those words which lashed out at her with keen daggers and spelled out the source of her pain. As always, the words stabbed deep into her heart with dull, relentless hurt as she suffered again the distressing news of her uncle's death. In that moment she recalled with horrific clarity the day in which her entire life as she had known it had ended and her new resolve had been born. A single look, one careless glance had been all that was necessary to bring her world tumbling down around her ears and make her swear an oath to avenge the loss of her pride and very self.

She swallowed and managed to contain her anguish. Locking it up inside her, she channelled it to build the resentment and hate up inside her until it reached a fever pitch. Harnessing the hurt in this way helped her to justify her intentions and provide her with a burning need for revenge. It was nearly time for the years of planning and preparation to come to a head, and soon she would be able to vent all her pent up fury in the way she had once vowed, all those years ago. Her childhood sweetheart may have risen higher in society than she would ever have believed possible and accomplished feats that had shaken the very foundations of the universe itself; but through rejecting her with such callous disregard, he had now fashioned himself his most dangerous adversary yet.

With the utmost care, she folded the poignant letter and replaced its bindings. She slipped it back into the envelope and made to replace it on the shelf which was crammed with a multitude of letters. Each conveyed a different part of her antagonist's journey. Categorised and rigidly scrutinized, she had followed his course by way of words, treading his path in her mind and weeping as he found a wife and spawned children in turn. She could not bear that he could be happy and live a life without her. He could not. They had been destined to be together, she knew in her heart, and now she vowed that he would not escape her. She no longer loved him, but he had slighted her, and she would not allow such a crime to go unpunished. He was hazardously unaware of her power and her position, but very soon he would be reminded of the one that he had dared to leave behind.

She reached for the letter that she had just returned to its place on the shelf and rested it on her palm, gazing at it almost reverently. She traced the emerald seal with her fingertip. It was etched with the outline of a Shuriken or Adder Sting, a small throwing blade dipped in poison and the binding of her heritage. An air of determination washed across her face and she raised her flashing eyes to the heavens. A harsh whisper passed by her lips and she spoke to the earth ceiling infused with symbols and strange patterns.

"I shall avenge thee, uncle. Thy cold-hearted murder and mine own cruel dismissal doth rankle in my very core. When the time is right, thine own manipulation and mine also shall be turned against their perpetrators and Justice will see it done!"

The silence that greeted this outburst stretched for several seconds. Slowly the flaxen lady returned her gaze to the letter and tenderly returned it to its position on the shelf. She moved to the window and stared up at the setting sun. She needed to do some more training before the night could claim the land. Turning her back on the reddening sky, she strode confidently towards the door and left the room.

The row of letters filed delicately on their shelf stared around the empty room. Letters of love, hate and destiny; all intertwined. Sharing the shelf, they spelled out between them the crushed hope and abandoned love of a broken woman's heart.


	2. An Outstanding Drink

**A Love Forsaken**

**_Disclaimer: All characters, locations, mythical items etc. belong to David and Leigh Eddings, except those that did not appear in any of the Garion stories._**

_A/N: Well? Do tell, what do you think so far? This is my first fic, so be nice. I thought the first chapter was a little serious, so it's time to lighten the atmosphere a bit. There'll be plenty of dark and mysterious stuff later on_

**_Chapter 2: An Outstanding Drink_**

Belgarion, King of Riva, Overlord of the West, former Child of Light, multiple great-grandson of the legendary Sorcerer Belgarath and nephew to the fabled Lady Polgara the Sorceress swept into the royal chambers, unfastened his heavy cloak at the collar and tossed it, along with the heavily-gilded crown into an abandoned armchair. With a lingering groan of considerable relief he sank into another and allowed himself to relax for the first time in weeks.

"Good evening, dear." His flame-headed spouse barely glanced up from her needlework as she addressed her slouching husband, "had a good day?"

He didn't answer for a few seconds as he closed his eyes briefly in a state of lethargy. A huge yawn pranced across his face and he spoke in a weary undertone,

"Thank the gods that's over."

"And what might that be, dear?" It was clear from the Rivan Queen's tone that she knew exactly what he was referring to. It was equally as apparent that she thought he was being utterly pathetic about it.

"The girls. They've just left, and I'm sure Aunt Pol won't stand for such nonsense."

"I'm quite sure I haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about, Garion dear. Try getting to the point, would you? I'm very busy." She continued to sew.

He glared at her, "you're not busy at all. You could ask any of the servants to do that for you. You're as bad as Aunt Pol, you know that?"

"Of course, darling. But I do wish you would just tell me what the problem is, and then I can..."

"Tell me just how pitiful I'm being?"

"Naturally. Could you pass me that reel of green thread, please, Garion?"

For a fleeting instant he seriously considered telling her to get it herself. He put a great deal of thought in the matter in the few seconds that were available to him, but he knew that doing so would merely spark off a rendition of "_you don't love me any more!_" This hated phrase, even though he _knew_ full well that she did it merely to prove that she had him bound tighter than ever around her little finger, always owned him. The moment that lower lip began to tremble and her eyes brimmed with tears, his resolve would all but disintegrate and he would go along with whatever she wanted all the same. With great reluctance he reached for the guilty spool, and tossed it to his devious wife. For several minutes they sat in silence. Ce'Nedra patiently strung her needle and tied a knot at the end of the strand. Garion watched with irritation as she inserted the sharp point into the material and pulled it through. The needle darted in and out of the cloth with a swiftness that absorbed him, but only served to bother him more. Finally, despite knowing that his words would break little ice with his treasured 'other half'; he could not hold his concern inside any longer.

"Beldaran is driving me to distraction," he began.

"I wasn't aware that she had misbehaved," Ce'Nedra replied coolly, not looking up from her sewing, "you'll have to fill me in on the finer details and I shall punish her accordingly when she returns."

"It's not…her…exactly," Garion's frown grew futher etched into his forehead as he struggled to find a way to word his problem that would not be immediately stamped upon by his wife. He soon gave up and pawned for the ranting approach, "It's those Torak-blessed suitors! They follow her around everywhere. They're practically drooling over her!"

"She's a pretty girl."

"That's the problem," Garion growled through gritted teeth, "she's beautiful."

"A father's worst nightmare," Ce'Nedra looked up briefly in order to nod knowingly. Her face was straight as a Tolnedran road, but Garion was sure that he could detect a distinct trace of mockery underlying her words. The needle started up again, rocketing through the fabric.

"You're making fun of me." Garion was resentful. His every word so far had been mercilessly torn apart and dragged through the gutter. So much for making them stamp-proof. To his annoyance the flying needle did not falter in its progress at all, but persisted right to the end of the seam, where it immediately resumed its course elsewhere. "Will you put down your sewing when you are talking to me!"

Ce'Nedra stolidly ignored Garion's request and deigned only to raise her head and deliver him a thoroughly disdainful look. "As far as I could see, Garion, I was not doing much of the talking. That, unfortunately for me, has been your territory. It does appear that perhaps you need some help as you don't seem to have communicated much since you began the first of your woeful sentences." She paused briefly to examine her stitching with her critical eye, and then proceeded to unpick her most recent efforts and begin again. "Oh, and Garion? If you want to order people around, don't pick me. I have equal rank to you, if you will remember; you announced it yourself. And even if you hadn't, I don't do as anybody tells me anyway so I'm not going to start with you. Be a sweetheart and please refrain from trying."

Garion scowled and muttered through clenched teeth, "I'm getting a drink."

"You'll only regret it in the morning, dear. You've got the Council tomorrow. It's not good to shape the world on an empty stomach, and you won't be able to hold anything down." As an afterthought, she added, "and don't slam the door on the way out." Grudgingly, the door met its frame in a state of mute civility.

Garion's face as he strode down the corridor could have rivalled the Cherek Bore in sheer ferocity, and if given the choice, several of the servants that came across him on his sullen journey would have sooner faced the latter rather than enrage their king further. He strode towards the front of the Citadel with maids and soldiers alike practically diving out of his path left and right. He looked over the city and out to sea, but the horizon remained empty and night was falling fast over the Isle of the Winds. He turned towards one of his nervous sentries who was desperately trying to keep the clanking of his armour to a bare minimum so as not to aggravate his fuming monarch. Garion opened his mouth to speak and the sentinel cowered.

"Is Prince Kheldar here yet?" He growled.

Greatly relieved that the query was not something worse but terrified that his answer would displease the king, the guard gabbled, tripping over most of his words, "I'm very sorry, sire, but I'm afraid not."

Garion grunted his comprehension but paused in his reply. The quaking guard waited on tenterhooks, biting his lip beneath his helmet in anticipation.

"Just tell me when he gets here." The king breathed at last. He turned to go back inside, flanked by his equally petrified security guards, and the sentry almost fell over himself in trying to voice his affirmation, "Of course. Yes sire, Your Majestic Highness, sir!" He bowed repeatedly and retained a constant salute until Garion had left his line of sight, and then he slumped against the pillar with a mixture of exhaustion and surprise at his survival. His fellow sentry looked over, white-faced.

"That'll be a story to tell your grandchildren, that will."

Inside the Citadel, Garion headed for the place where the ale-barrels were kept. He looked in and found Barak and King Anheg singing raucously together about how a young lady named Aristelle cheated the government and built herself a palace of corks. That was what Garion could discern from the cacophony, anyway. He decided that he would leave the two men to their drunken ramblings as he would never hear the last of it if Ce'Nedra found out that he had joined them, which she undoubtedly would. He made to close the door behind him, but Barak caught sight of him before he was able to close it entirely, and he called blurrily out to him.

"Garion, my friend!" He slopped a great deal of ale down his front, "Come and join ush! Dish, _hic_, dish ale of yoursh is really shummink, you should have shum too, _hic_! We're shinging ash well, _hic_! Go on, Anheg, show – show him!"

Garion felt sure that he did not need any reminder of their abysmal lyrics and he deeply regretted ever venturing down here. Anheg, however, was determined, and he broke into song again, "_Aristelle, Aristelle, my little, hic, darling! Why did you have to leeeeave me? Lonesome and sad in her HIC palace of cooork! _Come on Garion! _Now shee, hic, shee lives alooooone! Aloooone, I tell ye!_" At that moment Anheg slipped beneath the table. There was a nasty bubbling noise, then he resurfaced and stared blearily up at Garion. "What you fink? Come and shing with ush! Deresh, _hic_, lotsh more vershes."

Garion fled.

Several hours later, Garion had still not managed to find an alternate way to sink his sorrows and he flatly refused to return to his chambers and his depressingly incisive wife. He sat slumped in his office, drowning instead in the tedium of several official and incredibly boring documents. No matter how many times he read any particular sentence, none of it seemed to want to bother trying to burrow its way to his brain, so it came as a relief when the sentry he had terrorized earlier came to inform him that Silk's ship had been sighted.

He followed the guard to the Citadel steps and then dismissed him. His face still retained its dark glower as he greeted the Drasnian prince on the step. Silk was entirely unperturbed by this less than warm welcome.

"What's wrong with you?" he quipped, "don't tell me, you've discovered another prophecy; the world's about to end, again; and the upshot of the whole thing is that your wife refuses to take you seriously. Am I right?"

Garion scowled, "even you're making fun of me!"

"I would have thought that you would have realised by now that I have always been the very first to make fun of you. Shame, I was late. I must have missed my cue. I couldn't get Greldik, he was otherwise engaged. I had to use Brelog; slow as a Thull given a quill and no ink and doesn't know one end of his ship for the other."

"Oh, yes. Sorry. Greldik's taking the girls to visit Aunt Pol and Durnik."

"And the reason you're upset has something to do with the girls. Beldaran, to be precise." Silk surveyed him critically.

Garion's head snapped round, "how did you know?"

"Ce'Nedra sent me the Council summons, remember? She's told me, or rather Liselle, everything that's been going on in your personal lives. And also there's a vein in your temple that stands out whenever one of your daughters are mentioned. There it goes again, right there." He grinned mischievously.

Garion sighed, and let loose to Silk. "Beldaran's attracting far too much attention; they're literally trailing after her –"

"She's sixteen, Garion."

"Exactly, she's not old enough." Garion set his teeth.

"She's old enough to be married. Both you and Ce'Nedra were sixteen, even younger when you first met."

"That's not –"

"That is entirely the point, Garion. You can't stop children of their age doing what's natural to them. Now why don't you stop dwelling on it and drown your sorrows in some of that excellent new ale of yours that I sampled last time." The little man rubbed his hands together, gleefully. "I haven't seen Barak or Anheg in a long time, and I have it on pretty good confidence that the ale-house is exactly where I'll find them."

Garion frowned, "what confidence? You've only just arrived."

Silk grinned broadly and tapped his nose, leaning forward, "my own gifted skills of deduction, my friend. Now, do you want that drink or not? You owe me, I saved your neck in Yar Nadrak three years ago, and what with you being so busy being kingly, we haven't had a proper drink for twice as long. What do you say?"

"No thanks, not right now. I experienced enough of the Cherek singing skills," he wrinkled his nose, "and smells, when I passed by earlier. I don't need another lesson." He lapsed into silence for a few seconds, and then broke out again, "what am I going to do about Beldaran, Silk. She loves the attention, she laps it up. I won't stand for it!" He sighed, "at least she won't get up to anything with Aunt Pol, that's certain, so I'll have a bit of a break from it all."

Silk's amused smile widened as Garion spoke, and he could barely contain his brimming mirth. "Just what kind of illusions have you constructed about your aunt, Garion? What do you think she was trying to do from the minute that you and Ce'Nedra met? She was trying to push you together at every opportunity, choosing some shockingly underhand ways to go about it that even I would not dare sink to. No, I think that Lady Polgara is probably the one you need to worry most about!"

The Rivan king's eyes bulged considerably, until it looked as though they might pop out of their sockets, but then he relaxed about a hair. "But there are no boys of the right age in the Vale," he breathed.

"Oh, I wouldn't count on it. Polgara the Sorceress has ways to get what she wants." Silk intoned solemnly with _just a hint_ of hilarity in his voice. "Don't forget, there's always Beltirin to experiment with!"

Garion's face was that of stone. "Maybe I will take that drink."

_A/N: Perhaps this chapter wasn't entirely relevant, but I enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it. It just addresses some of the issues that every parent has with their kids and makes Garion more human and not just a king. By the way, Beltirin is one of Polgara and Durnik's twins; they had a boy and a girl (Polena). You'll find out in the next chapter anyway, but I thought I'd say here as well just in case you were confused._

_Please R&R!!_


	3. Arrival at Dawn

**A Love Forsaken**

**_Disclaimer: All characters, locations, mythical items etc. belong to David and Leigh Eddings, except those that did not appear in any of the Garion stories._**

_A/N: This chapter has been completely rewritten and resubmitted. It has absolutely nothing to do with the chapter that was here before, because that was quite possibly the worst lump of festering tripe that I have ever written. Hopefully this will be a little more readable._

_Thank you so much for your reviews. You are all wonderful and amazing._

**_Chapter 3: Arrival at Dawn_**

As dawn appeared, fresh and rosy fingered1, she spread her glossy wings wide and lit up the plains of the Vale with her pale magnificence. The great tree, whose broad limbs stretched out over the vast plain, was lit up with her shining majesty and it seemed almost as though some kind of heavenly aura was growing about it. Already the birds were busy about their nests, fixing and tweaking, chirping all the while; completely oblivious to the power that lay in the very grain of the branches in which they had made their homes.

A few leagues away, four figures on horseback could be seen making their steady way to the top of a knoll that overlooked a small farmstead. Three of the riders were crowned with a mass of vivid red hair that sparked in the growing daylight and resembled a vibrant blaze of crimson flame. The fourth, however, sported a mane of sandy locks which cascaded freely down the back of his tunic. By looking closely at the faces of the four, it was immediately evident to any that they were brothers and sisters. It was clear by their bearing that they were no strangers to the saddle nor the hardened road, and yet still they radiated a sense of deportment and self-assurance that could only be associated with the nobility. They were all dressed in travelling attire of a sombre grey that starkly contrasted the girls' vibrant hair.

As they approached the top of the rise, the tall young man spurred his mount into a canter up to the crest, where he stopped and looked down on the cottage below. Crown Prince Geran of Riva had grown into a handsome young man of eighteen years and he now ruled the hearts of many dithering hopefuls back at the citadel. Now, as he gazed down on the quaint and welcoming little cluster of buildings, he smiled that disarming smile that sent most of the maids back home into a swoon.

He sighed, "It has been far too long." He turned back in his saddle to see his sisters come up behind him and he reached out to steady the mount of his second eldest sister.

He frowned slightly, "What's happened to Lupien(2), I thought he was with you?"

The princess Xephra tossed her fiery curls so that they caught the light and flashed like a score of glittering stars. She laughed airily, her silvery voice dancing merrily over the faint breath of the wind.

"You worry too much. Do you think that he could ever possibly lose us?"

Geran muttered his reply, "I'm sure he would be perfectly capable of it, if the stakes were high enough. Say, a fleeing rabbit?"

"If you're that worried, why don't you call him back?"

"You know he won't listen to me; only you can get him to do what you want him to."

"All right," the princess sighed, "if it makes you happy; I'll call him for you." Her face took on a glazed expression as she began to reach out with her mind. She did not have to search far until she found him and observed that her brother's predictions had been correct. She called to him gently with her mind and felt him answer, but with considerable reluctance. She returned to her body. She smiled at her brother and leant forward to whisper in her horse's ear. The animal stumbled forward a few more paces to the top of the hill and Xephra threw her head back to feel the warmth of the early sun on her face. A few seconds later she felt a faint nudge in her mind and she smiled as she sensed her companion returning. Geran looked to the foot of the hill to see a fluid black shape rippling towards them and he waited to greet it.

"Good hunting, friend? One was concerned by your extended absence."

The black figure reached the little group and sat back on his haunches, laying down the limp body of a rabbit from his jaws. The wolf replied to the young man in a similar series of yips and barks, "One apologises. One gave in to temptation for this shall be the last opportunity for one until one's journey home. One's mother has forbidden the stalking of any Vale creatures, so one saw fit to linger at the edge of the grassland and await one's chance." The beast licked his teeth and growled again, "the hunting was good. One wishes now that one had asked you to accompany one."

"Next time, perhaps; one looks forward to it." Unnatural though the dialect seemed for a human, the guttural sounds flowed easily from the young man's tongue and none of the group registered any surprise at this unusual form of address. The animal bared his teeth in a wolfish grin and took up the rabbit again, trotting forward to where Xephra sat astride her horse. No words passed between them in either language, but some form of communication took place between the two and the wolf gazed up at his mistress with a look of total devotion. Xephra smiled in the comfortable presence of her companion, and she started forward over the crest of the hill, Lupien loping easily at her side with the rabbit dangling flaccidly from his jowls.

The rest of the group followed, and after a mere five minutes ride they came to the small collection of buildings that was their destination. As they approached, a sturdy, muscled man who had been working on the fence looked up and saw them. Surprise turned into a wide grin and, straightening up, he put down his tools and strode towards them, arms open wide.

The youngest of the flame-haired princesses gave a cry of delight and slipped down from her horse. Slapping the reins into her brother's hand, she ran laughing towards the man.

"Uncle Durnik! Uncle Durnik!" She careered directly into his outstretched arms, all sense of propriety vanishing as she greeted her uncle. Durnik lifted the tiny girl easily and drew her into a warm embrace.

"Ce'Vanne, how are you?" He lowered the girl to the ground and looked down at her. Ce'Vanne was eight years old, but she had taken after her mother in that she was incredibly short for her age, barely coming up to Durnik's stomach. Indeed, she had needed a special horse prepared to carry her that she would be able to manage, yet one that would still be up to the long journey from Camaar to the Vale. Luckily, because of her father's worldly influence and his close relationships within the kingdom of Algaria, King Cho-Hettar(3) had made sure that she was suitably provided for.

Ce'Vanne's physical size, however, had not seemed to have affected any other aspect of her person. A constant stream of shrill chatter flowed unceasingly off her tongue, and she sounded for all the world like a flock of fussing pullets. "Uncle Durnik! Did you hear about Bel's birthday? Oh, it was fabulous! Father called in the world's best musicians and they played the whole night, and the dryads came, cousins Xella and Xeina as well, and they brought a message from the trees themselves and they all planted acorns from their trees around those intertwining ones that were planted when mother and father were married – we're getting quite an orchard there, now – and father did something clever with the sky, he made the clouds shape themselves to look like Beldaran – it was really beautiful! – and we had such a feast, you've never seen anything like it; there was partridge, chicken, pheasant, beef, lamb, mutton, turkey, pumpkin soup, rabbit stew, and…oh! The puddings! Cakes, tarts, pies, pastries, apple scrumpet, meringue pie ––" She paused to gulp some air, and the others burst out laughing at the serious expression on the girl's face, now crimson from the effort of remembering all those wonderful dishes.

Durnik seized the chance provided by the brief lull in the tide to move forward and help the other girls down from their steeds. Geran leapt down from his horse and, after half-lifting Xephra to the ground, shook Durnik's hand vigorously by way of greeting. Durnik clapped him soundly on the back.

"What took you?" The smith asked, "We were expecting you the day before yesterday."

"Yes, sorry about that," replied Geran. "There was this most awful storm; even Greldik was loath to ride it until it had died down a bit, so we had to wait a couple days. But apart from that, we've made good time."

"Well, it's good to see you, anyway. I trust the rest of the journey was sound?"

"Thoroughly uneventful, I'm pleased to say." Geran grinned.

Durnik now turned to the eldest of the girls. "Many happy tidings to you, 'mistress Beldaran'. It sounds like you had a wonderful birthday, and I express my deepest, most heartfelt regrets that we could not be there with you in your happy hour.

Beldaran beamed, "don't worry, uncle." She pulled a slight face, "to be honest, it was all a bit ostentatious. I would much rather just a quiet time with the family, but don't tell Father that! The bit with the clouds _was _quite remarkable, though." Her brow creased into a slight frown and she looked sideways at Durnik. "I say! Doth mine ears deceive me, or did mine good uncle show a dab of eloquence in the enunciation of his noble greeting?"

Durnik smirked, entirely uncharacteristic of the goodman's usual unassuming nature. "Pol's been teaching me the correct etiquette for communing in polite society. Now I'm the disciple of a god, I'm going to be having a lot more interaction with higher circles; people who might not be quite so forgiving as yourselves."

Beldaran shrieked with laughter, "Oh! That's just so _adorable_!"

"Dear me! You're sounding more and more like your mother every time I see you," came a voice from the doorway to the cottage. "Although I have to say, she does reach a very impressive top C sharp that is particularly ear-piercing. You haven't quite achieved that calibre yet, I'm pleased to say."

"Aunt Pol!" Ce'Vanne screeched, and leapt on her.

"And so are you, my dear. And do you realise how unladylike it is to jump on people in such an ungainly manner?" The tall, raven woman stood stern and imposing in the doorway, but there was a faint twinkle in those deep lavender eyes. Little Ce'Vanne only came up to her waist, and she had to crouch right down in order to kiss her. "Now go inside, dear, and find Beltirin, if you would. I can't think where he's got to."

Happily, the petite child skipped inside the cottage. Polgara turned to the rest of the group. "Well? Come on inside, then! Durnik and Geran, see to the horses, and then you can help the girls and I prepare some breakfast." Having delivered her crisp instructions, she whipped around and strode back into the house. Beldaran and Geran exchanged an amused glance before following their orders. Beldaran went over to Xephra and they made to enter the cottage.

From the moment that her feet had touched the ground after being lifted from her mount, Xephra had been loosely gripping the fur on the back of Lupien's neck. Now, as the wolf began to follow Beldaran inside, she let him lead her, trusting him implicitly.

Two years after her birth, Princess Xephra had been pronounced blind, much to the anguish of her family and the Rivan people. As she grew up, it became clear that she was permanently sightless, and so she would need something to help her live her life without constant care. The wolf that had returned with them after recovering Geran had become closely bonded with all the royal children, especially Xephra, and so, realising this, her parents had assigned Lupien to be her guide. This had not proven to be a problem for either party, as they were devoted to eachother and the princess' hereditary Dryad height meant that she did not have to bend to grasp his pelt. The wolf refused to leave her side unless he received permission from his mistress and so, regardless of her disability, Xephra still managed to live life to the full. The Rivan nation adored her for her valour in the face of everything life had thrown at her and she still attracted her own sizeable share of prospective suitors from all over the world.

With Lupien's gentle tugging to steer her, Xephra followed her sister into the cottage where they joined Aunt Pol in the kitchen. As soon as they entered, the whole interior seemed impossibly large for such a small house. The kitchen itself, though not as big as the one at Riva nor that at Faldor's farm, still allowed Polgara the freedom and space to do the thing that she loved best. The sorceress was bustling about and humming an ancient tune that had been lost over the ages. Although she was minding about twelve saucepans at once, seasoning and tasting, she still found the capacity to usher the girls upstairs to change out of their travelling clothes.

Obediently they trooped upstairs to one of the attic bedrooms, where they found two fresh dresses laid neatly out on the beds. They washed and changed quickly and made their way back downstairs where they found Geran and Durnik returning from the stable.

"And what do you think you are doing?" Polgara greeted the men, "Dripping mud and horse manure all over my clean floor! Go upstairs and have a bath; you too, Durnik."

With the men out of the way, the three women worked and chatted amiably together about this and that, laying out the breakfast things on the hefty oak table that was the pride of Polgara's kitchen. Soon, wonderful smells were rising from the bubbling pots on the stove, and they drew the newly scrubbed men back downstairs for their mouths to water and to have their wrists smartly slapped by Aunt Pol.

As they all assembled to eat the gargantuan cooked breakfast that the ladies had prepared, Ce'Vanne entered, looking dejected. "I can't find Beltirin anywhere, Aunt Pol. I've looked everywhere I can think of."

Polgara looked entirely unconcerned, "oh, he's probably in the creek again. Don't worry about it, dear."

Geran looked up. "The creek? Hasn't he grown out of that by now? I thought falling into the creek was a pastime reserved solely for little boys."

"You'll see," Aunt Pol replied mischievously, her eyes twinkling. "I'm sure Beltirin would much rather tell you himself. Why don't you go down and find him; _after_ breakfast Ce'Vanne, dear." Her face falling, Ce'Vanne sank back into her seat. "He won't want any breakfast anyway," Aunt Pol said, "I expect he's catered for himself already."

Although he was still perplexed by Beltirin's absence and the baffling bits of information that Aunt Pol had deigned to impart, Geran chose not to pursue the subject as he knew that he would get nowhere if his aunt chose not to tell him. Instead he broached another matter. "And what about Polena?" he asked.

"She'll be in the Tree; she's been there for a few weeks now. Tell you what, after breakfast you can go and meet up with Beltirin and go and find Polena. You can make a day of it." Almost as an afterthought, she added, "you should probably drop in on your grandfather on the way; he'll want to see you all."

"But Aunt Pol," Ce'Vanne wailed, "we've only just arrived, and the horses are tired out, so we won't be able to ride them."

"She's right, Pol," said Durnik, "It'll take almost half a day to reach the Tree on foot, and they're all tired from the journey."

"Nonsense!" scoffed Polgara. "The horses did all the work in carrying them here. Besides, it'll do them good to stretch their legs after the ride; otherwise they'll spend the rest of their lives walking around bow-legged!"

The tone of her voice settled the matter and the siblings looked at eachother, disgruntled. Only the wolf seemed happy about it. Xephra caught his eager thought as he growled softly at her side.

"One needs a run."(4)

_1) Sorry, I couldn't resist; I just had to slip a Homeric Epithet in there. I have to live up to my username anyway!_

_2) As those familiar with Latin will probably have realised, _Lupien_ is derived from _'lupus'_, meaning _'wolf'_. Interestingly, if you are a Harry Potter fan, the same is true of _Lupin_, the werewolf. Fitting, don't you think?_

_3) Sorry, but yes. Cho-Hag died a few years ago and left the throne to his adopted son, the Shar-dar, Hettar. He took up the prefix Cho-, which means 'chief of chiefs', to honour his father and his cultural heritage._

_4) In case you're thinking that Lupien ought to be tired out from the long journey (he was on foot while the others were riding, after all), not so. Wolves are well known for their ability to run non-stop for hours on end; they are the ultimate endurance runners. Plus, Lupien has had a chance to rest._

_I know this wasn't a very good cliff-hanger, but this chapter was getting far too long. I'm going to split it and write the rest as a separate chapter._

_I hope that this attempt was considerably better than the last one, sorry for the delay in posting. Please R&R, I really appreciate it._


	4. Mirrordance

**A Love Forsaken**

**_Disclaimer: All characters, locations, mythical items etc. belong to David and Leigh Eddings, except those that did not appear in any of the Garion stories._**

_A/N: I apologise for not updating for such a long time; I have not abandoned this story, I assure you. Quite the contrary, in fact, I have it almost completely planned out; and it's turning into a very long story. I am not particularly fast at posting as I spend a lot of time on each chapter (time which comes in twenty minutes here, an hour there), but I ask you to bear with me and I shall hope to post, on average, about once a month._

_By the way, if you looked at my update record before I posted this, it said that I had not updated for several months. This is untrue because I replaced chapter 3 with something completely different about a month and a half ago, and for some reason it did not say I had updated. I will try to be more regular in future, however._

_Anyway, this is a follow-on from the last chapter as, like I said before, it was getting rather long to fit into one chapter._

_Enjoy!_

**_Chapter 4: Mirrordance_**

Polgara stuck to her word. As soon as the children had finished eating she bundled them out of the door with a small picnic for their midday meal and directed them towards the creek. Standing stern and imposing at the entrance to her little realm she looked coolly after them, completely impervious to the glowering, yet wary glares that were shot back from her slouching charges as they trooped off into the broad grasses of the Vale.

The only one who seemed unconcerned by this curt dismissal was the young wolf, loping steadily at his mistress' side. Xephra caught his jovial mood, and felt her spirit lift because of it. Sensing his playful tone, she released her hold on his pelt and sent him running freely ahead of the group, while she fell into step with her brother to guide her.

In the short time they had spent at the cottage, the sun had risen higher in the sky and the day was truly beginning. The deer that had come out to graze, the grass still wet with the tears of the morning, looked up curiously at the group as they passed. Ce'Vanne was unnerved by their unflinching inquisitiveness and turned to her brother.

"Why are they staring at me?" She said in a small voice. "None of the animals in the forest at Riva look at me like that, why do they not run?" It was Ce'Vanne's first proper visit to the Vale since she had been a baby, and so she was unused to the peculiarities of the sacred place.

Geran replied soothingly to his sister, "don't worry. They're not going to eat you. They're not used to strangers, so naturally they are interested; the only people who ever tread here are sorcerers and they only tend to venture out every thousand years or so."

Ce'Vanne frowned, "but what about Grandfather, and Aunt Pol, and Uncle Durnik? They go out more than once in a thousand years. It would get boring, just staying inside all day!" Ce'Vanne was a restless child, and could not sit still for more than a few minutes at a time, much to the exasperation of the royal governesses at Riva.

"Ah, but sorcerers have their own ways of getting around; they don't need to walk. Their feet needn't even touch the ground."

Ce'Vanne gazed up in awe at Geran. "Like what? Do you mean that they can…_fly_?"

"Among other things." Geran's eyes glittered roguishly as he looked down at his eager little sister and he tapped his nose. "I'll let you find out for yourself. Ask father, he'll show you."

The little girl's face fell. "Papa won't show me. He never has time nowadays and anyway he says that our people in Riva don't like sorcery, so it doesn't do to upset them with open displays."

"Grandfather, then. We'll be seeing him later."

"Oh, but Geran…please…" But Ce'Vanne's protest was drowned by a sudden commotion up ahead. Suddenly the peace was shattered as a black bullet scattered the quietly grazing deer. Lupien shot straight through the herd and then circled back for another run. Snapping playfully at their heels he deliberately missed them by inches, darting to and fro and spreading terror through the ranks.

His antics drew a laugh from even the sulking Ce'Vanne as she forgot her badgering and ran forward to chase the wolf, half laughing and half concerned for the deer. It was a humorous sight to see the tiny girl chasing the wolf, who was almost the same size as her. Lupien finally let the deer alone at a gentle but firm thought from Xephra, following behind, and the jittery beasts soon relaxed again and returned to their meal, but at a greater distance than before.

The tension between them had been shattered completely by the sudden action and the mood changed as they finally began to settle in to enjoy their walk. The early morning breeze was soft on their skin, and the smells of Pol's kitchen still lingered with them, stirring memories that did not belong to them.

Soon they reached the creek, but there was no sign of their cousin. Geran did a rapid scout around the banks and the edge of the forest, but found nothing. He rejoined his siblings.

He frowned, "where can he be?"

"Maybe he went back to the cottage?" Beldaran offered. "He might know a different way; so we didn't see him."

"He'd better not have," Geran growled. "I don't want to have come all this way for nothing."

That brought a chuckle from his eldest sister, "we've come barely half a league; we've got to visit the Tree, yet, brother! Where's that manly stamina? Honestly, you'll never get a wife if you're this pathetic all the time!"

Geran's gave her an intensely evil look, which she promptly proceeded to ignore. He could not maintain the thunderclouds for very long, however, and they soon dissipated into a wan smile as he conceded. He never could win a fight with his sisters; they were models of their mother's grit, through and through. Even Xephra, though generally so quiet and sweet-tempered, could be fairly sharp when roused, and stubborn as a mule.

He sighed and flopped resignedly onto the soft bank. His sisters joined him and they sat in a companionable silence, watching the creek. A sweet breeze was blowing across the water, creating soft ripples that rocked and widened into bright rings. The light caught them just so they glittered and seemed almost to dance across the surface, only to be shattered into a million crystals as water boatmen skipped their merry away across the water, almost as if it were solid ground. Even the young Ce'Vanne was captivated by the beauty of the moment and she sat and simply stared agape at the wonder. There was nothing as charming as this back at Riva, where the people fashioned such marvels by the way of art and music, but failed to grasp the simple complexity of nature when surrounded by the harshness of city life. The small child unconsciously traced the surface-dancers' path on her knee. They skated effortlessly across the silvery surface of the water, their spindly legs supported only by the surface tension. They spiralled in bewitching patterns, interweaving and coalescing until Ce'Vanne was quite dizzy. She shifted her gaze slightly to come to rest on another of the rippling circles which was a little more vigorous than the rest. She drew her knee up and hugged it, resting her chin on it, and frowned slightly. The churning was too energetic to be the work of the gentle breeze, which barely whispered over Ce'Vanne's soft skin. The agitation in the water grew stronger, and suddenly altered its course so that it was headed straight for the little girl, who caught a breath as she saw a flash of brown peek above the surface. In the next instant it was gone, but she knew that she had not imagined it. With the tremendous awe that befits the character of all young children she kept her eyes fixed rigidly on the water and followed the disturbance as it moved, while roughly shaking her brother who was seated next to her.

"Geran! Geran! There's something in the water!"

The tiny girl's excited whisper brought the young man back from his daydream and he looked up obligingly in the direction that she pointed. "So there is. I can't quite make out what it might be, though."

The curiosity of the other two girls had also been piqued: Beldaran leapt up and skirted the edge of the creek to try and get a better view while Xephra reached out with her mind to the animal. The blind girl made contact and suddenly felt a barrage of thought coming towards her: hunger, a small amount of fear, and an alertness to danger were all there, but most of all she caught an overwhelming surge of intelligence and uncomplicated joy of being in the water.

"It's an otter," Xephra affirmed to her siblings before she turned her mind back to the animal. She smiled as the happiness infected her and she raced with it through the cool water, diving and soaring, waltzing on surges. She was flying! The exhilaration buzzed through her; she had never felt such a feeling of freedom and it filled her to the brim with gladness. She could almost see pictures, sketches, really, despite her blindness: brief flashes of the dark bottom, a shoal of fishes scooting past, a forest of weed. She gasped. She had never got so much from a mind before and she wondered at it. She wanted there to be no end to the euphoria, and so it was with great regret that she made to detach her mind. Suddenly, as she was breaking free of the otter's mind, she felt another thought brush hers.

As Geran, Ce'Vanne and Beldaran tried to follow the otter's rapid motion, they, too, felt a little of the rapture that their sister was experiencing. They laughed and cooed as the creature twisted skilfully in the water, spiralling through it as though it were air.

Suddenly Beldaran caught her brother's arm. "Is it putting on a show for us?"

Geran stared at her for a moment in surprise, and then looked back at the water. It did indeed look as though the leaps and dives were all part of a theatrical performance, a rhapsody of tricks and acrobatics. He suddenly realised that where before it had been so difficult to catch a glimpse of the creature, now it was impossible not to see it. He looked towards Xephra and saw her stumble backwards a few steps, her sightless eyes wide. He leapt forward to steady her and she turned towards him, a look of shock and amazement on her face.

"I don't believe it!" She whispered, and then chuckled a little in her silvery tones.

"What?" Geran asked, a little concerned, "What don't you believe?"

But before Xephra could answer, Geran heard a splashing at much closer quarters and he looked over for the cause of the commotion. With one last trick that brought a shriek of delight from Ce'Vanne, the otter reached the bank and begin to scramble out, its furry wet face staring cheekily up at the group. Mystified by the animal's complete lack of fear, Geran watched as it pulled itself out and waddled towards them, shaking its coat as it went. It reached them and gazed up at them inquisitively.

Suddenly its outline didn't seem quite so clear; its form began to blur and change. Swiftly, the creature grew, pink, hairless skin replacing the damp brown fur of the otter; the claws retracted back into the dainty paws which were rapidly growing longer and wider, splitting into five at the ends. After but a few seconds, the royal siblings were no longer looking down at a river otter, but a young man. Sheepishly, finding himself on the ground, he stood up, and it became evident that he was tall; a full two heads taller than Beldaran, in spite of the fact that they held roughly the same number of years. He had a pleasant face that bore the first hints of a beard, with soft, almond-shaped grey eyes. His hair was a shock upon his head, sticking out in all directions, and he had to keep brushing it out of his eyes in order to see.

"Beltirin!" Geran let his breath out explosively. "Your mother's been teaching you transformation, I see. Nice performance."

"Thanks, cousin." Beltirin grinned. He looked down at his bare feet. "I need to work on the shoes, though; I can never get them to stay on my feet when I change back."

He closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment and suddenly a pair of sturdy leather sandals appeared in his hand. He slipped them on his feet and then straightened up to greet his cousins properly.

"Xephra!" He grinned sagely, "I hope I didn't startle you too much just then. I must say, I was hard cut out to keep my human identity from you; I was having so much fun, but you leeched it from me in the end!" He turned to Ce'Vanne; her eyes were wide and she was struggling to speak. "Did you enjoy my show?"

She spluttered, "Was that…did you…?" She turned to her brother. "Was this one of the things you were talking about earlier? They can…" She turned back and addressed Beltirin in a slightly accusatory tone, "Can you fly?"

The young sorcerer looked down at her earnest expression and laughed, snatching her up and swinging her round so that she shrieked with delight. "Would you like me to show you?"

The little girl gasped an awed affirmation, so he set her down and concentrated, but then he opened his eyes again. He bent down and removed his shoes, winking at Ce'Vanne.

"I'm not making the same mistake again!"

He closed his eyes and concentrated, his brow creasing with the effort. Slowly his outline blurred and a few seconds later a large bird of prey was perched slightly awkwardly on the bank before them. It was almost three spans(1) long from beak to tail, with a dark mass of feathers swathing its back, and a white belly. Its head was mostly white but with a dark strip that circled the head, covering the piercing green eyes like a kind of mask. It reminded Ce'Vanne of the pirate stories that her father had often told her and she stared at the bird in wonder. She looked at the sharp, hooked beak and cruel talons and shivered as she imagined how they must grip their prey and tear them apart.

Suddenly she stumbled back as the bird let out a shrill cry and spread its magnificent wings to present a wingspan almost double its body length. It began to flap, tensing its powerful muscles more rapidly by the second, until it began to rise slowly into the air. It climbed higher and higher, striking the air with an audible blow on every downbeat, letting its highly sensitive feathers guide it and steer it into a likely breeze. And then it caught a thermal provided by the warmth of the early sun and it stiffened its wings to soar freely, gliding in circles and rising higher still.

Beltirin did not stay aloft for very long. He performed a couple dives and aerial spins before swooping down to skim the surface of the water in the creek. He pulled up a few metres from the group, flaring his wings to kill his speed. He approached with an ungainly waddle and changed back, much to the disappointment of the captivated Ce'Vanne.

"Flying's not my strength, I'm afraid;" He said, retrieving his sandals from Beldaran and slipping them on his feet, "that's Polena's department. I'm much more of a water person. Otherwise I usually like to keep my feet on the ground; like Grandfather, I suppose, and Uncle Belgarion(2)."

"Is that why you chose a fish eagle(3)?" Beldaran asked interestedly.

Beltirin looked at her. "I suppose it must be. It's the one most suited to my character, anyway. When grandfather was teaching me, he told me to visualise a bird and that was the first image to pop into my head."

Geran had watched the proceedings with wonder equal to that of his siblings, but now he looked up and saw how high the sun was in the sky.

"Belar!" He swore. "It's almost midday! We'd better get moving if we're going to make it to the Tree and back before nightfall."

They set off into the main grasslands of the Vale, Beltirin leading them, and they chatted together as cousins do, covering the ground as fast as they could without tiring themselves too much for the journey home.

A few hours later, they caught sight of the World Tree. It was an impressive sight. One moment all they could see was grassland, and then they crested a hill to see a shallow valley spread out beneath them, a vast tapestry of wonder. In the very centre stood the regal immensity of the Tree, bursting with majesty and the colourful diversity of Spring. Despite the incredible spread of its huge boughs, covering an area of many leagues, very little shadow was cast beneath them. The rays of brilliant sunlight were granted passage through the lush canopy of leaves, allowing the grass and plants to continue to grow right up to the Tree's trunk.

All of the royal siblings felt an indescribable awe as the sight of such magnificence stirred something inside them, and the girls especially felt an almost maternal pull towards the emerald brilliance. Ce'Vanne's eyes were bulging and she found herself running full pelt towards the Tree, her sisters and Lupien at her side, dashing beneath the enormous boughs that rose far above her head. It took them almost half an hour to reach the base of the tree, and they had slowed their run to a walk, allowing Geran and Beltirin to catch them up. The girls ran their palms almost reverently over the bark of the trunk, feeling every knot and fissure call out to their Dryadic heritage. Geran, too, felt a strange urge to touch the tree, but his was not as strong, so he stayed back with Beltirin and allowed his sisters to drink up the glory of the Tree's very presence.

Xephra laughed her own silvery laugh as she tingled with excitement. She knew that the Tree was pleased that she was here and it spoke to her in a strange and melodious stream of patterns and images that she had never received from ordinary trees. Not even the great oaks in the Dryad's forest could communicate with such beauty and depth and she gasped in wonder. These images were even clearer than those she had received through Beltirin's mind; flashes of colour and unspeakable beauty. She could feel her sisters, too, sharing in her wonderment, and she reached out to them, joyful in their connection. She could feel Ce'Vanne's childish delight and Beldaran's sheer gladness as they drank up the delicious warmth and mystery of which they had been granted but a small sample.

Finally, with a contented sigh, the girls withdrew from the Tree. Ce'Vanne was beaming from ear to ear and almost skipping with joy, she rejoined the boys, who had broken out the picnic while they were waiting. They had chosen a spot where the branches high overhead were parted wide, allowing a stream of sunlight to illuminate them and revealing the sky. Beldaran was sure that such a vast opening had not been there when they had first reached the trunk, and she wondered whether the Tree itself had something to do with it.

"What about Polena?" Beldaran asked as she and Xephra also came to sit down.

"She'll come down when she's ready," Beltirin answered thickly, speaking through a mouthful of chicken. "It's not a good idea to disturb her unless she's ready; she's got a formidable army up there that's always on call to pounce unwanted visitors."

"But what if she doesn't realise we're here?" Ce'Vanne said worriedly. "It's a very big tree; what if she didn't hear us arrive?"

"She knows."

"But how do you –?"

Beltirin silenced her with a significant look which he then directed upward, through the vast parting in the canopy. She followed his gaze curiously, looked puzzled for a moment and then gasped suddenly.

"Oh!"

High, high in the sky, a tiny black dot was circling. It rode the thermals as elegantly as a dot is able, seeming to float and soar as a dancer would. And then it seemed to come to a halt in midair. For a moment it looked stationary, and then, slowly at first, it began to grow as it dropped from the sky. Faster and faster, bigger and bigger; it grew and grew until it was no longer a dot, but could be seen to be a bird of prey. At first it appeared to have no wings, but as it came closer the group saw that the abnormally short wings were being held in a tight embrace to the body of the bird as it plummeted, streamlining it and letting the air rush over it at a faster rate. In a blaze of unbelievable speed, it shot straight through the gap and plunged towards the ground. Just as it looked as though it was going to plough right into the earth, it pulled up, mere metres from impact. It sped wildly upwards again and headed directly towards the immense trunk of the Tree, banked to avoid it just in time, and made a more or less elegant landing on the ground.

Seen more closely and not when it was blasting downwards at impossible speeds, the group were able to attain a better idea of what it looked like. It was a large falcon of some kind, roughly two and a half spans long. It was almost entirely black with a patch of white covering part of its breast and beneath its beak. Its head was fairly small and sunken slightly into its neck, making it seem, in Beldaran's opinion, rather like that small, unpleasant Nadrak man with the ruff whom her father had suspended from the battlements of the citadel for three days after having persistently tried to get much too close to her for her father's liking. Of course, the bird pulled this off with considerably more panache than the said man, who bore much more resemblance to a bedraggled chicken that had been pulled through a flour mill than an elegant falcon such as this.

Ce'Vanne edged tentatively towards the bird, a mixture of interest and fear of the large bird of prey marking her features. She stopped dead and her mouth dropped open as the bird began to blur. For the third time that day she saw a human emerge from the body of an animal, but it remained as fascinating and wondrous to her as if she were seeing it for the first time. A few seconds later a human being lay at the feet of the small girl. Beltirin strode forward and helped a girl with the same almond-shaped lavender eyes to her feet. She straightened up and showed that she matched Beltirin's height exactly. In fact, she matched everything exactly; a dancer's build, the eyes, the shape of the face were all identical. The only differentiating aspect was the hair; Beltirin's was wild and unmanageable and cropped to his shoulders while the girl's raven mane reached almost to her waist with not a hair out of place, despite the fact that she had just been lying on the ground.

"By Aldur's nose-hair, that was the most fun I've ever had!" the girl crowed exhultantly, eyes blazing fiercely as she turned her face to the sky. "Tirin, you should have joined me! You don't know what you've missed! Soaring high on the thermals; it's freedom like no other, I could stay up there for ever!"

"Nice landing, Ena." Beltirin chuckled, "you decided against becoming a woodpecker, then. I could have bet ten gold pieces that you were going to gouge the Tree itself."

Polena ignored him with finesse and advanced on Ce'Vanne, gathering her up and hugging her fondly.

"How's my favourite cousin?" She winked at Beldaran and Xephra so that Ce'Vanne would not see. She lowered the girl to the ground and crouched to her level. "Do you like the bird? She's a peregrine falcon(4), or, as I like to call her, the Wandering Huntress."

Ce'Vanne stared back at her, eyes still wide. "I thought you were going to crash! You came so close to the ground."

"It wouldn't have been the first time," Beltirin coughed lightly to cover the muffled remark, but at his tiny cousin's inquiring look he went on. "She was enjoying the experience so much, once, that she forgot to pull up from her dive. She managed to plough a hole about five yards deep; father measured it after mother had finished panicking, diagnosing Ena with concussion, administering some horrific medicine and finally assigning her a month's worth of indoor confinement upon her recovery. Quite impressive, I thought. Soft earth, but even so…"

He grinned as Ce'Vanne's scarlet eyebrows disappeared into her equally flaming hair and then flinched as Polena rounded on him threateningly.

He felt her start to gather in her Will, so he added hastily, "of course, this time you barely wobbled. Very neat performance, I thought."

His twin stood over him, glaring, for a long moment. Her eyes bored into him relentlessly for a long, tense moment where he tried to look benign and innocent until she finally released him and turned back to greet the others. She then bent down and acknowledged the wolf in his own language and scratched him behind his ears where she knew he liked it best.

Finally, she sat down to join them in their picnic, although, she said, she was still quite full from the rat she had just killed. She would eat something more, however, because the blood had left an unpleasant aftertaste in her human mouth.

Just to make Ce'Vanne squirm.

_1)Read _The Rivan Codex_, Universal Weights and Measures, pg 173. 1 span is roughly 9 inches, as is similar in our world. An osprey is actually closer to 24 inches rather than 27, but I thought that _spans_ sounded better than _inches

_2)This was a difficult one. I spent some time trying to work out just what kind of relation Garion would be to Beltirin and Polena, and I concluded that it must be cousin, considering that Aunt Pol is Garion's great aunt. The trouble is, Garion is the product of many hundreds of generations whereas Polgara has only one recorded ancestor; her father (we don't know anything about Belgarath's heritage). Beltirin and Polena are just the third generation of Belgarath's line, and, pitted against Garion, that would make them first cousins about a thousand times removed. Faced with this, and considering the age differences, I decided that it would be much simpler if Beltirin and Polena simply referred to Garion as "Uncle"._

_3)A Fish Eagle is another name for an osprey; one that I felt was more suited to Garion's world. After all, they hardly likely to use exactly the same terminology as we do, are they?_

_4)I know, I know; I used the English name from our world, as opposed to thinking up a new one. There are two very simple reasons; one being that I didn't like the ones I came up with and the other that I like the word_ peregrine _(derived from the Latin _peregrinator,_ which means_ traveller_). I twisted the rules with Lupien's name as well, I'm afraid, as it is highly unlikely that the languages in Garion's world find their origins in Latin._

_Well, I hope you liked that; Reviews are always appreciated, especially _constructive_ criticism. My reviewers so far have been wonderful, and I hope they are still reading this! This chapter was a little longer than anticipated; I do try not to make my chapters _too_ long._

_I am aware that in the last few chapters not a lot has happened. I like to give my characters a strong introduction before launching the story, but I realise that the story needs to move a little faster. The next chapter will set the ball rolling. Please keep reading!_

_My love to all, _

_Eos Erigeneia x_


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